Sick of Chack
by CrystallicSky
Summary: Details inside. CHACK, ONESHOT


**Sick of Chack**

**By: CrystallicSky**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters, nor do I make any money or attempt to from the writing of this.**

**Warnings: Language, homosexual romantic interaction, etc.**

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**_Morgellons Disease-_**

"Chase…"

The warlord awoke from a very sound sleep with the tiny, pathetic whimper of his name and felt his heart sting with a relatively unfamiliar sympathy to see his beloved curled in on himself and scratching at his sensitive and already littered-with-lesions skin.

Jack made a quiet noise of weak protest as his arms were snatched away from each other, his short fingernails no longer able to claw at the crawling sensation upon his flesh.

Ants! Roaches! Bugs! _Something_ was swarming all over him; something he couldn't see but could _clearly_ feel and it just wouldn't go away, it wouldn't-

Chase was calmed to see the goth sigh in relief at the small feed of magic into him, doing the job of an antipruitic but with ten times the effectiveness, relieving the seemingly causeless itching and crawling sensation. "Are you feeling better, Spicer?"

"Yeah," the albino replied softly, his red eyes falling upon the self-inflicted lacerations focused specifically on his forearms. "This sucks," he said quietly.

The elder male gave a derisive snort. "If that isn't the understatement of the past several centuries, and I should know, now shouldn't I?"

Jack then clung to his lover tightly. "When's it gonna stop?" he quietly asked of his lover. "I mean…I don't wanna keep doing this. I dunno if I _can_ keep doing this," he confessed. "This is _horrible_…"

"Ashley is working on a permanent cure for you," Chase promised the boy. "I will personally see to it that she gets over her stubborn belief that it _must_ simply be delusional parasitosis and gets to work on helping you."

The young goth sighed and snuggled himself more comfortably against the older, more powerful man. "Thanks," he said sincerely. "I know this can't be your cup of tea: putting up with a half-crazy lover who keeps thinking something's crawling on him all the time."

Chase pulled the soft-soft, not-at-all scratchy blankets up to further cover the albino and gave him a reassuring kiss upon the temple, a sweet and affectionate rarity for the dragonlord. "I will _always_ put up with you, Spicer," the man promised, "_especially_ for things that _aren't_ your fault for a change."

**_Chronic Fatigue Syndrome-_**

Jack smiled as a pleased purr rumbled from his prone lover at the gentle stroking of his hair. "You like that, baby?" he smilingly inquired.

"Yes," the man answered him in a tired slur. "To warn you, I may fall asleep again if you keep that up."

That gave the youth pause and, continuing his petting of lustrous, dark hair, he finally said something that'd been on his mind since he'd first found out about his lover's little condition. "I never pictured you having something like this," he spoke. "You're a _warrior_, and I've seen you stay awake at regular intervals _tons_ of times before."

"I tend to cheat it a bit," Chase admitted, his tone still obviously drowsy. "The fatigues comes in bursts anyway, but when I know I'm in the midst of one, I make use of the Crystal Glasses to foresee if there shall be any times when I will _need_ to be awake and fully-functioning. If that is the case, well…there are thousands upon thousands of 'pep' spells that can give me the necessary amount of awareness for the necessary amount of time before I am able to go back to 'so unbearably tired I can't so much as leave the bed for a week'."

"Wait," Jack interjected, "if you can just energize yourself whenever the hell you want, why don't you just continually use the 'pep' spells and shit to keep yourself functioning normally?"

"With pep spells," the overlord informed, pausing for a jaw-cracking yawn, "there is always a catch. The tiredness that I put off for a short period of time returns full-force when I cease using the charms. I happened to find that out the hard way when, a few centuries back, I kept myself 'normal' for a full year, failed to use a spell for a single day, and then woke up a century and a half later. Rip VanWinkle, eat your heart out indeed!"

The goth snickered a bit, but deduced, "So…it's better that you only avoid the fatigue when you really _need_ to so that you don't end up exacerbating the illness when it all builds up?"

"Precisely," the man agreed, holding back another yawn and his eyes already sealed shut.

Jack, noticing this, gently ordered, "You get some sleep, baby, I'll be here when you wake up."

Chase sighed pleasantly at the declaration, nuzzling his cheek more comfortably against the black trousers clothing the albino's thighs. "Don't be surprised if I take you up on that offer, Spicer…"

The redhead smiled to himself and continued stroking the man's hair until well after he'd fallen asleep in the youth's lap.

**_Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease-_**

Golden eyes stared hard at the scribble coming from a pencil held within fingers white as the paper being drawn on, and despite the overlord's intelligence and knowledge of the currently-scribbling youth's mind, he had absolutely _no clue_ what Spicer was getting at.

Upon the paper, there was a mammalian-looking head with a spot over its eye and bovine ears, its brow decorated with very angry looking eyebrows only augmented by the little speech-bubble beside it with the dialogue, 'Motherfucker! D=' Next to that was what looked to be a Rod of Asclepius in the making, but it was hard to be sure considering how badly drawn it was (Jack had the doodling skills of a two-year-old and could only draw well when it was straight lines and sleek figures, as in blueprints for his machines).

Before the warlord was aware of it and had come to any sort of conclusion as to the verbal identity of the drawing, however, the timer buzzed, thereby indicating that the time the game had allotted him to solve the phrase was up.

"Gawd," Jack exclaimed in annoyance, "how'd you not guess that one?! It was _so_ friggin' easy, Chase!"

The elder man glanced back at the drawing and sneered. "I fail to see any sort of intelligible message in that little scribble, Spicer," he imperiously announced. "Care to share what you were going for?"

"Holy _hell_," the goth sighed, dramatically exasperated, "it's Mad Cow disease! Look: a pissed off cow, that healy-type symbol thing next to it, it's _obvious_, isn't it?"

Chase very nearly smacked his lover upside the head and berated him for his lousy drawing skills and for being so condescending and bratty about his not solving of the puzzle.

He was able to stop himself with the recollection that it was only a game; a game, by the by, that appeared to bring out the worst in both of them to the point that physical violence was considered.

"Spicer," he spoke upon realizing this, "for your safety, I think it best we never, ever play Pictionary again."

**_Schizophrenia-_**

"No!" the boy thrashed in the orderly's arms, "I'm not crazy! I _saw_-I _heard_…I _know_ they were there! They're real," he insisted. "_He's_ real! I _know_ he is!"

The orderly paid no attention to the flailing and wriggling teenager he held tightly so as to keep him from escaping nor to the boy's parents behind him watching heart-brokenly as their son was dragged away, still kicking and screaming about the 'Xiaolin monks' and 'Shen Gong Wu' but most often, that one name over and over and over again: Chase, Chase, Chase, Chase…!

The youth was fitted with a straitjacket and unceremoniously tossed into his new living quarters within the asylum, Room 6A.

His screaming and yelling of how the man he loved with all his heart _couldn't_ be a figment of his imagination would not cease, however, and was agitating the other patients to the point that he was injected with enough sedative drugs to make a bull elephant feel a bit bushed and the young man was quickly out cold on the similarly chilly floor of his room.

Jack Spicer was soon shut up in the room and was left to mewl helplessly in his unnatural sleep, tossing and turning restlessly to images floating through his head of a handsome Chinese man professing his eternal and very reserved love for the teen and telling him over and over again that he was very much _real_.

_They're fools, Spicer; they know nothing. Who are you going to believe: fools who tell you I am imagined, or me?_

**…you, Chase, always you…always you…**

**_Autoimmune Disorders-_**

"Coeliac disease?" Jack inquired. "What the hell is that?"

The doctor before the youth flipped a page upon his clipboard briefly and informed, "It's an autoimmune disorder, Mr. Spicer, of the gastrointestinal variety. In the presence of gliadin, a gluten protein, your body will see your intestinal tissue as a foreign invader and will attack it, leading to an inflammatory reaction and interfering with your body's absorption of nutrients."

"Wow…" the goth mused, comforted by the reassuring squeeze of his hand that Chase offered, "this is serious then, huh?" The doctor nodded. "So, um…what do I do about it?"

"Well, the only current treatment for coeliac disease is for the patient to undergo a gluten-free diet, so as to avoid ingesting the protein that causes the reaction."

Red eyes blinked warily at the middle-aged man before the dragonlord (currently disguised as a normal human for this outing to an average doctor's office) spoke up and asked the question that was on his younger lover's mind. "And just what will this 'gluten-free diet' entail?"

"Mr. Spicer will have to cut out all wheat-products from his diet indefinitely: barley, rye, and to be safe, oats as well; and of course, anything that contains any of those products."

There was a silence.

"…you're fucking _kidding_ me," Jack declared after a long moment. "That's _it_?"

The doctor blinked in a lack of understanding at the casual acceptance of the disease.

Chase took his cue to clarify. "My Jack," he explained, "does not _touch_ anything in that food group. In fact, he barely goes beyond the 'pudding' food group and even when he does, he never goes near wheat bread of any kind nor anything with wheat or wheat products in it."

"I've never had any symptoms of this thing," the goth added, "so apparently, nothing I've been eating for the past nineteen years of my life," it was really closer to _ninety_ because of that handy charm his dragonlord had discovered that tied their lives together to the point that the albino would not age or die until Chase did, but he couldn't exactly tell the doctor that, "has been on the list of 'stuff not to eat if I like life.' Basically…you just totally wasted my time with this."

Doctor Nathaniel Mark watched with wide, startled eyes as his white-skinned, red-eyed and red-haired patient unceremoniously hopped off of the examination bed and stormed out of the room, calling to his significant other, "C'mon, Chase, let's go home; I want some fucking pudding for having to get all worked up over nothing and wasting, like, three hours with this yutz…!"

The aristocratic-looking Asian man gave a bemused grin to where his lover had exited the room and then an acknowledging nod to the doctor before following the teenager out.

Huh, Dr. Mark thought to himself, what an _odd_ couple of men…

**_Pica-_**

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

"Spicer, would you please _stop_ that?"

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

"Stop what?"

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

"_That,_" Chase specified. "Stop _that_."

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

"I dunno what you're talking about, Chase."

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

"The ice cubes, Spicer," the warlord snapped at his lover, "stop chewing on the ice cubes from your drink: it is irritating beyond belief."

"I can't help it!" Jack squawked indignantly. "I'm diagnosed!"

"…diagnosed?" Chase inquired. "With what?"

"Pagophagia," the goth informed, "a form of pica."

Golden eyes blinked in surprise. "The disease that causes its victims to compulsively eat things that aren't food?"

"That's the one," Jack nodded. "Mine's actually caused by an iron deficiency, so it's not just psychological and there's a _reason_ for it."

"And allow me to guess: of the non-food items pica-sufferers are driven to eat, you are possessed of an affinity for-"

"Ice," the teenager finished. "Yep."

"And…instead of taking iron supplements to compensate for the iron deficiency as is known to lessen and often completely eliminate symptoms of pica caused specifically by a lack of iron, you insist on torturing my sensitive ears with your noisy chewing and damaging your own teeth by doing so."

"Um…" Jack gave a sheepish grin. "Well, when you put it _that_ way…"

"Get yourself some iron supplements, Spicer," Chase ordered his lover. "Until then, you shall not be sharing a dining room with me."

The goth was out the door to wherever the nearest pharmacy was before the overlord had even finished speaking.

**_Avian Flu-_**

Chase entered the living room of his lover's home, pausing at the sight of said lover on the couch and utterly engrossed in the program on television.

"Swine flu?" he inquired upon noticing the subject of the show. "Don't' tell me you are so foolish as to be _worried_ by this trivial epidemic, Spicer."

"Don't worry," Jack said with a grin, "I'm not. I just think this whole thing is really interesting."

The warlord cocked an eyebrow.

"Well," the genius explained, "it seems like every year, there's a new animal-originating infection that everybody's got to lose their collective shit about: West Nile, HIV/AIDS, SARS, Mad Cow disease, bird flu, swine flu…honestly, I'm just waiting for 'platypus anemia'!"

The elder man chuckled, joining his lover on the couch to watch newscasters and reporters over exaggerate the severity of the swine flu epidemic to the point that anyone to get their information _only_ from watching the news would be running around in a gas mask and screaming for their life. "Yes," he agreed with an amused smirk, "and then perhaps a debilitating outbreak of porpoisolio shall strike!"

**_The Common Cold-_**

"Chase?"

Shallow, labored breathing in response.

"How are you feeling, baby?" Jack gently inquired upon fully entering the room, full bowl of chicken soup in tow.

A sound that could be interpreted as, "NNGGGGYYAARRRGHHH," came from the curled-up-in-bed warlord, but that was being generous and putting it _very_ elegantly.

The goth placed the bowl on the bedside table and managed (with _plenty_ of difficulty) to coax the unwilling immortal to leave his cocoon of blankets long enough for the soup to be relocated to his lap.

Chase, to put it bluntly, looked a _mess_.

His hair was greasy-looking and bedraggled from the days he'd spent lying in bed with his cold, too sick and exhausted to even _think_ about showering any more than once every three days. His eyes were red and watery and his nose the same color and drippiness from the consistent sniffles and sneezing he'd been forced to endure, and his normally-tan, golden skin was pallid with his current illness, not _quite_ the paraffin shade of flesh his lover sported but _much_ closer to that than it should've been.

"Poor thing," Jack cooed to the man sympathetically, watching bloodshot gold fix on him as he dipped the spoon into the chicken soup and raised it to the man's lips.

Chase, much too tired and sick to protest the babying treatment at this point, obediently opened his mouth and swallowed the hot, soothing broth before speaking to his lover, "I admire your dedication to me, Spicer."

The albino teen held back a wince at the hoarse, congested voice the overlord was possessed of and smiled, filling up another spoonful of soup for the man. "I love you, Chase," he informed matter-of-factly. "It's pretty much my _duty_ as your lover to tend to you in your time of need. After all, what the hell kind of consort would I be if I just sat around in the aftermath of the Great and Powerful Chase Young being felled by the Common Cold?"

The overlord snorted in derision, but nonetheless swallowed another spoonful of soup, secretly grateful for his beloved's unending devotion.

**_Alzheimer's Disease-_**

"Chase…if I ever get Alzheimer's, kill me."

The warlord looked up from his novel at the declaration to see a black-clothed figure slumped at the desk upon which the recently-added cage sat.

"What prompted such a statement, Spicer?" the man inquired.

"Hamtaro," Jack replied, citing their ridiculously-named, brand new pet hamster as the reason for his mention of Alzheimer's disease. "He's only got, like, a couple-hours of memory. That's gotta suck. I mean, just getting down the layout of your environment and getting settled in, only to have to start all over again hours later? That's gotta suck. _I_ couldn't do that six odd times a day, y'know?"

"You shall never _have_ to, Spicer," Chase promised his younger lover. "You've no history of Alzheimer's disease in your family, and besides that, you are much too physically young to experience it, and nineteen years old is the physical age you shall be remaining at for the rest of _my_ life. The very youngest case of Alzheimer's that I am aware of was at least twenty-seven; much older than you."

The goth smiled, comforted by such a fact. "Thanks, Chase," he said, a teasing grin stretching from ear to ear. "I feel better now. I mean, if _you_ haven't gotten it considering how old _you_ are, then…pfft, I don't have a chance!"

**_AIDS-_**

"I've been, um…thinking lately…"

"Ah, so that's what that noise was," Chase deduced. "I'd _thought_ that grinding sound was new."

Jack frowned at his lover. "I'm serious, Chase," he spoke firmly. "I've been thinking, and…we should start using condoms."

The warlord stared hard at the albino youth lying naked in bed with him. "…you're joking."

"No, Chase, I'm not," the goth insisted. "Mom found out I was gay and, since she'd never seen any condoms around, decided to educate me on the dangers of unprotected sex besides the completely irrelevant pregnancy. I…didn't think I'd give a crap about anything she could tell me, but…I didn't totally know all the stuff there was to know about HIV and AIDS."

The dark-haired man watched as Jack sat up in bed and nervously twiddled his fingers. "There's no living with AIDS," he said eventually. "You get it, you're fucked. There's no cure, and it evolves too fast for a vaccine or for drugs to work on it. I…really don't want that."

It was the overlord who sat up in bed now, offended. "You imply I would have something such as a venereal disease?" he demanded coldly.

"W-well," the youth sputtered, "not on purpose! I mean, it happens by accident, so you wouldn't even know 'til you had it!"

"I have never slept with the diseased, Spicer," Chase firmly stated. "That is a strict policy of mine."

"In the past," Jack allowed, "but what about more recently? Like…whoever else you're fucking besides me?"

"…Besides you?"

"…" Wide, ruby eyes blinked owlishly at the elder man. "W…well yeah," the youth asserted, though far more sheepishly than his previous tone. "You're a dragonlord. Just…just me _can't_ be enough for yuh…" Jack trailed off to see the hard golden stare fixed upon him. "You're only fucking _me_ right now?" he meeped, stunned.

"Of course," Chase answered him. "You are my consort; I declared you as such. I've no intention of fucking another." Seeing the goth in total and complete flattered shock, he dragged the boy back to the bed and inquired, "Still so fixated on the use of condoms, Spicer?"

"No…No, I'm good," Jack decided.

**A/N: Ha! I bet by the title you guys thought I was saying _I_ was sick of Chack! XD**

**No need to fret: that's not going to happen any time soon, I promise! :)**

**The diseases I used are from a list of the Top Ten Mysterious Diseases, which can be found by Googling 'top ten mysterious diseases' and clicking on the first link.**

**In any case, hope you guys liked the fic! :D**


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